ppose you will carry out the intentions you have at present in view."
This was uttered in a tone of still greater bitterness than George had
used even in the previous phrase, and he added in a tone of surprise:
"Why, Harry, what have you been writing, and who taught thee to spell?"
Harry had written the last words "in view," in _vew_, and a great blot of
salt water from his honest, boyish eyes may have obliterated some other
bad spelling.

"I can't think about the spelling now, Georgy," whimpered George's clerk.
"I'm too miserable for that. I begin to think, perhaps, it's all
nonsense; perhaps Colonel George never--"

"Never meant to take possession of Castlewood; never gave himself airs,
and patronised us there; never advised my mother to have me flogged;
never intended to marry her; never insulted me, and was insulted before
the King's officers; never wrote to his brother to say that we should be
the better for his parental authority? The paper is there," cried the
young man, slapping his breast-pocket, "and if anything happens to me,
Harry Warrington, you will find it on my corpse!"

"Write, yourself, Georgie, I _can't_ write," says Harry, digging his
fists into his eyes, and smearing over the whole composition, bad
spelling and all, with his elbows.

On this, George, taking another sheet of paper, sat down at his brother's
place, and produced a composition in which he introduced the longest
words, the grandest Latin quotations, and the most profound satire of
which the youthful scribe was master. He desired that his negro boy,
Sady, should be set free; that his "Horace," a choice of his books, and,
if possible, a suitable provision should be made for his affectionate
tutor, Mr. Dempster; that his silver fruit-knife, his music-books, and
harpischord should be given to little Fannie Mountain; and that his
brother should take a lock of his hair, and wear it in memory of his ever
fond and faithfully attached George. And he sealed the document with the
seal of arms that his grandfather had worn.

"The watch, of course, will be yours," said George, taking out his
grandfather's gold watch and looking at it. "Why, two hours and a half
are gone! 'Tis time that Sady should be back with the pistols. Take the
watch, Harry, dear."

"It's no good!" cried out Harry, flinging his arms round his brother. "If
he fights you, I'll fight him, too. If he kills my Georgie, he shall
have a shot at me!" cried the poor lad.

Meanwhil